Fitz and Simmons- Foreshadowing
by 221B-Snitch-T.A.R.D.I.S
Summary: One-shot from a discovery I made when researching for "Fitz and Simmons on the Water". Thanks for reading and comments and critiques are especially welcome! :)
1. Foreshadowing

The metal prison hurtled through the air, Jemma's scream echoing and Leo's yell cut short with the impact, metal striking water. Fitz couldn't remember much. The sensation of falling, then sharp pain as their cage jolted and splashed down.

Then nothing.

"_All right. Just gonna need you guys to answer a few questions. A few psycho-analytic, non-sequitur questions."_

"_A lie detector."_

"The_ lie detector, Agent Coulson. This baby measures galvanic skin response, oxygen consumption, micro expressions, bio feedback, brainwaves, pupil dilation, voice biometrics- Ninety-six variables in all. Fury designed this himself. He wanted a lie detector Romanoff couldn't beat."_

"_Did she?" Fitz glanced over at his dark, solemn peer._

"_Like Fury would tell!"_

"_Okay, the sooner we get this done, the sooner we can get to work." Coulson turned to the group lined up next to him. "So who wants to go first?"_

…

"_We're gonna start with some easy questions and establish a baseline. Can I have your full name?"_

"_Leopold Fitz."_

"_Eye color?"_

"_Blue."_

"_Have you ever been married?" Leo was distracted, glancing around, trying to figure out what each and every camera was, watching the way they focused and the lenses dilated. He'd never seen machinery quite like it before._

"_No."_

"_Please list your immediate family."_

"_Just me and my mom."_

"_What's the difference between an egg and a rock?"_

"_Well, that's absurd." Leo's eyes pulled away from the cameras and his eyebrows scrunched together, head shaking slightly as he spoke. "The differences are innumerable. If you want, I could start listing them, but we'd be here all day."_

"_Exactly what your girlfriend said," muttered the test-giver._

"_She's not-" The screen flashed red and the short, pudgy man raised an eyebrow with a knowing smirk curling up the edges of his lips. Nonetheless, he continued._

"_You wash up on a deserted island alone. Sitting on the sand is a box. What is in that box?" A thousand possibilities rushed through the engineer's mind, finally settling on the one thing he would need to survive. …Not that he would be willing admit it, though._

"… _How big is the box?"_

"_Just say the first answer that comes into your mind. What's in the box?" he repeated with a touch more force. And so he blurted out the answer._

"_Simmons."_

The world was bright and gritty underhand when he woke. The sun reflected off of the water lapping at his legs and he groaned, shifting and accessing his health in his groggy state. Leo couldn't remember the last time his tongue had felt so dry, or, in fact, so salty. He was sure if he looked in the mirror, the muscle would be covered in minuscule white crystals. His arm still ached with pain, but was dulled and only stimulated by attempts to move. He let it hang by his side as he righted himself on the sand. Slowly, slowly, memory came back. As he crawled away from lapping waves, he saw Ward pulling the lever. Heard Jemma's scream. Felt the throbbing pain as he blacked ou- _Jemma_.

Panic. Nothing but panic.

_You wash up on a deserted island alone._

Throwing his head back and forth, ignoring the sharp bursts of red in his vision, he scanned the beach for a sign. For anything.

A large shape in the distance. Rectangular.

_Sitting on the sand is a box._

He's stumbling, half-running, half-falling his way to it. He's begging, pleading he's right. Reaches the edge and looks down through broken glass splattered around the edges with a touches of red.

_What's in the box?_

"Simmons," he murmurs in relief, seeing her curled on her side like a cat in the sunlight. Her hair had come loose from the ponytail and was tangled with sand and seawater, blood caking on her fingers and a bit of glass sticking out of her shoulder. And yet he had never been so relieved to see her, the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed in sleep. He swung open the door with a grunt and hopped down into the container with her. Bends down next to her and touches her cheek with one hand, wiping away a drop of blood. She mumbles something in her sleep and curls up tighter, and he smiles.

They were going to be okay.

After all, they were together.


	2. Alternate Ending

Panic. Nothing but panic.

_You wash up on a deserted island alone._

Throwing his head back and forth, ignoring the sharp bursts of red in his vision, he scanned the beach for a sign. For anything.

A large shape in the distance. Rectangular.

_Sitting on the sand is a box._

He's stumbling, half-running, half-falling his way to it. He's begging, pleading he's right. Reaches the edge and looks down through broken glass splattered around the edges with a touches of red.

_What's in the box?_

"Simmons!" he cried out, eyes glancing around the area for any sign of her. All that he could find were the drops of crimson splattered about the silver. "No, no,no, _no, no, no, __**no, no, no!**_" he cried, his movements becoming choppy and desperate. A flailing hand smeared a red print, smaller, more delicate than his own broad palms. He had to find her. Fitz closed his eyes.

Simmons was injured. She had most likely landed on the island _in the box_, and from there climbed out. She was well enough to walk or crawl, as she was nowhere in sight.

_Come on Fitz, what would you do? _

His eyes snapped open again. He knew where she'd gone.

He set his pace at a painfully slow rate, but made it into the bushes and up the dune without too much pain or difficulty. He had stopped to pant for breath when he saw it; a leaf, brushed with a dripping red.

Using a branch for stability, he pushed off again.

It was a half-hour later, and he was desperate. His throat was horse with the repeated cries of her name. His own hands were rubbed raw and barely bleeding, his walking stick running with small trickles of crimson. And yet he pushed on.

_Find water._

The river wasn't hard to find, just difficult to follow. Rocky scrambles and sinking mud had caused beads of exertion to form on his brow and his breathing to become labored and ragged. He was giving up hope until he caught a glimpse of crumpled black under a tree.

A surge of adrenaline carried him to where his partner lay under the sprawling branches. Her hair was a salt-sticky mess and small cuts and lacerations pooled red in her palm. A lash across her forehead ran a red trickle down her face, pooling on her eyelashes making it look as though she was crying blood.

He rolled her onto her back, propped up by the tree, and raised two fingers to her throat.

He nearly collapsed with relief at the small beats under the pads of his fingers. A small smile broke across his face, and he stayed bent over her, his eyes devouring her image. She was _here_. She was _alive_. As he took her in, eyes lids fluttered open over hazel eyes. Her face broke out into a smile.

"Fitz," she said, speaking softly, even tenderly. A hand reached out, cupped his cheek. He caught it and held it there, not caring about the handprint she left on his skin.

"Hey there, Jems."


End file.
